Digging Up Death (A Mari Duggins Mystery) (14 page)

“No, Peter.” I stood on wobbly legs.

“The same way you believe Peter might have killed Henderson.” Fletcher reached to steady me, but I shoved his hand away.

“I don’t know what to believe. Sure, Peter had motive. Much more than anyone, I suppose. But C.S. had motive. Heck, even
you
had motive.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

11:13 p.m.

AFTER EVERYONE LEFT AND the kids settled into their beds, I curled on the couch across from the crackling fire, trying to forget the disappointment in Fletcher’s eyes when he left. When I jokingly suggested he had motive to kill Henderson, I expected him to fire off some wisecrack accusation at me. The guy practically had Henderson’s job, for goodness sake. Couldn’t he see the irony in that? Instead he made some excuse about having to leave. Minutes later he was gone, but the pain in his eyes remained etched in my mind.

Gone. Just like Jack. I still couldn’t make sense of Jack’s strange call earlier. Maybe he’d call again tonight. Minutes turned into half an hour as I willed my iPhone to ring. What was wrong with me? Jack had made his priorities clear. Instead of moving on with my life, I sat pining for something that would never be. Someone who didn’t want me. I thought I had severed the emotional ties. How could I possibly keep myself detached and help prove Jack innocent?

I replayed the day’s events to keep my mind off my failing track record with all the men in my life. From the humiliation on the morning show to the interview with the casting director and all the crud with Henderson, Peter, and Matt in between. My interview seemed like a lifetime ago and so far from my worries at the moment. The only thing in my life still on track was my career.

I glanced at the phone again and checked the volume. No matter how much I stared at it, Jack wouldn’t call tonight and tell me he’d made a horrible mistake. I imagined Jack singing the Christmas song
I’ll be home for Christmas
. Yeah, right! Only in
my
dreams. I needed more than dreams right now. I needed to hear everything would be all right. That I was all right. That despite all my failures and imperfections, I deserved a happy ending.

I went to turn off my phone and noticed a voicemail message. I listened to the message sent at 11:36 am.
Mari …
it was Jack. The message I had missed earlier
… can’t talk … trouble … pray.

I clutched the phone, all my emotion swelling in my hollow gut. Pray? For what?

Jack grew up going to church, but he wasn’t a religious man. Why would he ask me to pray? Even if I wanted to, I didn’t know how … or what to say. Chill prickled my skin. I replayed the message. The fear in his voice pierced my heart. Something was seriously wrong. I remembered the explosion I heard over the phone in the parking lot. Was it too late to pray?

I dropped to my knees and folded my shaking hands like I remembered doing as a child.
Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die—
The ache in my head ballooned as I searched my memory for a different prayer. Any one besides that one.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference. Amen.

A peace I had not known in decades flooded me, calming my restlessness, easing the stress in my shoulders. Still on my knees, a presence hovered over me. Was God here?

Someone cleared his throat. I whipped my head around. Lightning shot down my neck and through my shoulder.

Danny stood in front of me. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs. D.” He parked himself on the couch.

I sat next to him.

“Are you okay?”

I started to nod, then stopped short and rubbed my neck. “You should be studying for finals instead of worrying about me.”

“Someone’s got to look out for you.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

Danny remained next to me, his leg bobbing.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” Maybe Cherilyn?

“Well … yes … I overheard you talking to Mr. Murdock earlier about Jack and the Egyptian scarab. I think I can help.”

My mind perked up, ready to consider any cockamamie plan Danny had to clear Jack’s name.

Danny wrung his hands and avoided my eyes. “I mean, I think I know what happened. But you have to trust me … and promise not to tell anyone.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

11:29 p.m.

MY MOUTH HUNG OPEN as Danny spilled the details of his transgressions. Never would I have guessed straight-shooting Danny for a felon. I understood growing up in foster care had to be hard. Who could blame him for being curious about his parents and using his computer skills to try and find them? But how could he do something so calculated, so wrong, so illegal?

“I had no choice, Mrs. D. If I’d gotten a C on my transcript, I would have lost my academic scholarship.”

“You could have come to me. I would’ve helped. Found you a tutor. But to hack into the university’s system and change your grade, nothing good could come of it. The truth will always find you.”

Danny hung his head. “I know, but you promised not to tell.”

“I won’t, but you’ll have to change your grade back. I can tutor you in Cultural Anthropology and put in a good word for you if you go to the scholarship review board.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. D., but I didn’t tell you all that to ease my conscience. If I got into the system to change a grade, then I can hack in again to find the truth about the artifact and see if someone hacked into the system like I did to change data about the artifact.”

My moral code started to fog. “Let’s do it.” Funny how righteous indignation flies out the window when I’m the one in trouble.

“You’re connected to the university’s system, right?”

“Sure, we access our personal files from the office computer.”

We moved into the study across the hall. It still had Jack’s computer and other things. When he left for the field two years ago, he mentioned I could put his stuff in the attic and let the kids use the computer until he had a chance to move his things out. I hadn’t gotten around to it. Neither had he.

Though the heat from the fire flowed into the modest-sized room, a coldness seeped through me as I walked toward Jack’s desk. When Danny sat in Jack’s oversized leather chair, the emptiness inside me intensified. I stroked the top of the chair, aching for Jack’s arms to hold me. Knowing they never would again.

I watched Danny’s fingers fly on the keyboard.
Ma’at represents the laws and concept of right and wrong …
But the line between right and wrong blended as we searched, and I disregarded the rules established by society. Part of me wanted him to stop. Most of me urged him on. I crossed into grey territory and did nothing to stop it.

… right and wrong which are characterized by truth and a respect for creation, life, and relationships.
We wanted to find the truth. Isn’t that all that really mattered?

In less than five minutes he was in. “How did you learn to do that?”

“Years of practice hacking into social services and government agencies.”

“Did you ever find your parents?”

“Nope, hit a dead end. Wait, I’ve got it. The computer files for the heart scarab.”

Danny opened some folders and clicked around for several minutes. “This might take a while.”

“I’m going to make some tea. Do you want any?”

He shook his head.

Ten minutes later I returned with a soothing cup of Sleepy Time Tea. Made from Chamomile flowers. I hesitated before taking a sip, but I had never had an allergic reaction to this tea before.

“Bingo.” Danny waved me over. “See this file? Someone changed the information and saved over the original. I guess they didn’t think someone would find the first report.”

“Which one was changed? Professor Henderson’s or Professor Kipling’s.”

“Henderson’s. It was first time-stamped 3:18 p.m. on Friday claiming the scarab was real. Then saved over at 4:03 p.m. saying it is fake. Just like the Kipling report dated Saturday morning at 8:47.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why would there be two reports by Henderson with different results less than an hour apart?”

I sipped my tea, reviewing Henderson’s report again. It had the standard information. The square and depth it was found. Excavated by Jack Duggins. Soil analysis found on the heart scarab matched the sample taken from the excavation site. Knowing Henderson’s meticulous testing practices, he probably wasn’t satisfied with the soil analysis and did further testing. “Danny, check the database for the results on the micromorphology testing.”

“Micro what?”

“Micro-morph-ology.” Now it made sense. “Standard soil analysis can be incomplete and oftentimes erroneous. Henderson had to record his initial findings then perform micromorphology with the untainted block of sediment transported from the field. Thus the reason for the two reports.” I pointed to the photo folder. “Click on this.”

I scanned the photos, but none contained the microscopic images. Neither did Henderson’s new report have the quantitative data, which would have been derived from these microscopic images if he’d done the test. “That’s strange. There’s no record of the test or any real data proving the scarab was fake. Just Henderson’s notes.”

“Um, isn’t that a good thing? Aren’t we trying to prove Mr. D. didn’t steal the scarab? If your theory is right, and Henderson did this microscopic test, then it would seal Jack’s guilt.”

I chewed on my pinky nail, the acrylic almost off. “I guess you’re right. Then how did Henderson come by his results?” I examined the testing database. “Something besides the micromorphology testing is missing. Can you access the university email?”

“Sure thing.” In three clicks he was in. “What am I looking for?”

“Emails from Jack in Luxor to me two to three weeks ago.” I skimmed the archived subjects. “That’s it.”

Danny opened the email with the subject “I Hit it BIG!”

I read through the typical email asking me to send photos of the kids, telling me he transferred money to my account. “There it is. Jack mentions that traces of linen were found on a top-secret artifact. Check the lab reports again, and see if he sent a sample off for C-14 dating.”

“C-14? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“You’re thinking of radioactive waste. C-14 uses radioactivity to determine the age of organic matter.”

“A scarab’s a stone, right? Where’s the organic matter?”

“The heart scarab was laid on the chest of the mummy, then wrapped in linen. Either traces of cloth or skin could have gotten on the scarab.” I pointed to the screen. “Click this email open. See here, Jack mentions he’s sending an organic sample to the Radio Carbon Lab in Austin.”

“Now what?”

“We get some sleep. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Tomorrow I’ll call the lab and see if they received the sample. Then I’ll get someone to do a micromorphology test on the untainted sediment. Assuming it’s at the university and we can find it.”

“All this work and we’re no closer to proving Jack didn’t steal the artifact. We just have a sack load of questions.”

“Guess so, but thanks for all your help.”

“Wait. There’s still a chance the artifact could have been stolen in the lab like Mr. Murdock said. Between 3:18 and 4:03. That could also explain the differences in results.”

“It’s worth investigating.” Tomorrow I could find out who had access to the lab during that time and the opportunity to steal the artifact. It was a stretch, but I didn’t mind the reach if it meant clearing Jack’s name.

Danny stood. “Well, if that’s all you need, I’ll go study. I have a big exam tomorrow.”

“Sure, but didn’t you forget something?” I pointed to the computer.

He sat. “Oh, yeah. The grade.”

After he switched his B to C, he left. My eyes drifted to the computer screen. The page for the student directory called to me.

I eased the door shut, my heart pounding. And I hadn’t done anything wrong yet. I sunk into Jack’s chair. The cool leather caressed my beyond-exhausted body. I longed for bed, for this day to be finished. But I couldn’t shake the quandary in my gut. The truth beckoned and wouldn’t quit nagging.

I typed Cherilyn St. Jean into the student database. Her record popped right up. Halfway through the page, the door flew open and crashed against the wall.

I jumped from Jack’s chair, caught in my own depravity. Luckily my captor hadn’t a clue. “Ben?”

He rubbed his eyes and shuffled into the room. I hurried to him and wrapped my arms around his sluggish body.

“What are you doing up? Did you have a bad dream?”

He nodded. “I saw the light and thought daddy was here.”

I scooped him up and carried him to the leather couch opposite the desk. “Want to tell me about it?”

He shook his head. “I can’t remember, but it was scary.”

“I’ll hold you for a while.”

Ben relaxed in my arms. “I miss daddy.”

“I miss him too.”

“Know what I asked Santa for at the mall?”

“What?”

“That daddy’d come home for Christmas.”

I kissed Ben’s cheek and snuggled close, watching his eyelids grow heavy. Santa always brought Ben what he wanted. Not this year. Yet I wouldn’t crush his hope tonight.

After tucking Ben in bed and checking on Matt and Hattie, I crept downstairs and checked Cherilyn’s grades on the computer screen. She appeared to be an A and B student, unless of course, Danny had—wait a minute. She was a student of Professor Henderson’s as a freshman? Origins of Civilization. I bet she earned a lot of extra credit in that class. Though I couldn’t guess what she saw in a man old enough to be her father.

I shook the thoughts from my mind. Who was I to judge? Cherilyn was probably a victim. Who knew what power Henderson had over her? Even my own mother couldn’t walk away from her abuser.
Focus, Mari.

A couple more clicks and I found her attendance records. It confirmed Cherilyn enrolled and attended two weeks of classes the second semester of her sophomore year. Last year. But didn’t she tell Danny she never returned after Christmas break?